


i want to hold you like you're mine

by jaldon



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Songfic, but also its not really angsty just a lil sad, established relationship (sort of), i use too many italics and parentheses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-06-12 09:11:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15336600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaldon/pseuds/jaldon
Summary: Jason Todd does not havea thingfor Roy Harper, because that implies that the bond they share is something small, something insignificant. What they have, what they are is nothing less than soulmates. Jason doesn’t deal in absolutes, not really, but there is no denying this.





	i want to hold you like you're mine

**Author's Note:**

> aka nadine sent me his jayroy playlist and i died and had to write a fic. this ones for u nadine. 
> 
> the songs i directly quote/reference are:  
> agnes- glass animals  
> let's get married- bleachers
> 
> and the title comes from agnes!

Jason Todd does not have  _ a thing _ for Roy Harper, because that implies that the bond they share is something small, something insignificant. What they have, what they  _ are _ is nothing less than soulmates. Jason doesn’t deal in absolutes, not really, but there is no denying this. 

He hasn’t seen Roy in months— months that feel like  _ years _ — but one cold fall night he gets the word that Roy is in Gotham. He hears from Bruce, no less. At first, Jason doesn’t know what to feel. He’s not upset, not at all, but he can’t bring himself quite to happiness, not after the way they parted. He doesn’t go looking for him. 

They find each other anyways, just like they always do. 

“Hood,” Roy says, standing on the edge of a skyscraper, looking over the city. It’s more than Jason deserves, and less. 

“Arsenal,” Jason replies, joining him on the ledge. It’s a windy night, and he’s glad for his helmet; without it, he’s certain that his lips would be chapped and his eyes would be tearing up already. 

There’s not much to say after that. (There is, there’s plenty to say, but neither of them say it.) 

They stand in silence for a few minutes, looking, watching. Eventually, Jason can’t handle it. He launches himself off the roof, letting himself freefall for far too long before shooting his grapple gun at the nearest building. He makes it though. He always does. 

Jason isn’t trying to run into Roy, no matter what his siblings might say. 

Like magnets, they come together again. (This is their destiny: to attract and repel, to be forced together and apart, over and over, forever. Who are they to defy destiny, to defy the laws of the universe itself?)

The second time they meet, neither of them bother with  _ words _ . They run into each other in an alley, surrounded by dead and unconscious bodies. This time, they just look at each other, two vigilantes locked in a staring contest. Finally, Roy nods. They somehow fall back into the easy rhythm they’ve always had. 

It goes like this: Jason looks ahead while Roy looks behind, they circle each other. Roy attacks and Jason guards his back. They protect each other, they look over each other’s shoulders, they move as a unit. The dance is familiar, if unpracticed. They are the Red Hood and Arsenal, and they are better than the sum of their parts. 

They wind up in the Bowery at 3:30 AM, and Jason sits down on the roof of an old cannery. His legs dangle off the side of the building, kicking against brick. Roy sits down beside him, quiet, and places his hand in the space between them, palm upturned. (You don’t need to speak when the language you know is one of souls.) For a moment, Jason considers ignoring it, and then the thought is gone. He lets his hand fall into Roy’s. 

After a minute, he speaks. “Hungry?” He pulls a power bar out from one of his jacket pockets. 

Roy shrugs, so Jason splits the power bar and hands him one of the halves. They chew in silence. 

“What brings you to Gotham?” Jason asks, and immediately curses himself for sounding so damn formal. He shouldn’t sound like this around Roy. 

Roy doesn’t look at him. “I just… needed to escape.” From where, Jason doesn’t know—  (New York? Star City?) it’s not like he’s been keeping tabs— but boy, does he understand the feeling. 

“And you came here? To Gotham City?” 

“Where else would I go?” Roy asks. 

Together, they let the minutes pass. Roy takes out a bottle of water. They share, even though Jason has one of his own, because it’s what they do. And Jason can’t help but think that for the first time in months, their lips have been in the same place. 

“Do you need somewhere to stay?” Jason asks, and when Roy nods, he says, “My apartment is a couple of blocks from here.” 

Roy raises an eyebrow at him, as if to say  _ after everything? _ But he follows Jason home anyways. (It’s a funny word,  _ home _ . And it’s funny that Jason’s never thought of his apartment as  _ home _ until Roy is gonna be in it.)

\- 

“I need to take a shower,” Jason says once they’re at his apartment, having climbed in through the window. “You can take one after, if you want.” 

Roy nods, looking around. He probably didn’t expect Jason to be so… settled. If he’s being honest, Jason didn’t expect it either. (The two months, three weeks, and five days that he’s been primarily in this apartment have been the longest he’s lived anywhere on his own, and he’s felt every moment. There’s something comforting in the lonesomeness, and something damning.) 

Jason casts a glance over his shoulder and he passes into his bedroom. Roy has placed himself on Jason’s couch and is already taking off some of his gear. Jason rolls his eyes. “Wait wherever, I guess.” 

He takes a cold shower. (He always does, it keeps him awake, keeps him sane, keeps him  _ real _ . Because heat on his back is still triggering. Because if he’s not wearing the mask, he remembers things.) Drained, he sits on the floor, and lets the water wash over him like rain. Taking, taking, taking, it washes away dirt and stress and memories. 

He gets out of the shower considerably less jittery than before, and pulls on a tee-shirt and sweats. 

Jason walks into his living room to find Roy on the couch, holding a book in one hand and a photo in the other. The photo is old; not only is it blurry with poor lighting, but it’s been folded so many times that creases have caused parts of the photo to seem warped. The subjects are unmistakable, though. In the photo, Roy sits on a couch in Titans Tower, and Jason’s arm is slung around his shoulder. Roy is laughing while Jason sticks his tongue out at the camera.

Jason remembers the day the photo was taken: it was shortly after he did a couple of missions with the Titans. Donna had recently purchased a camera and was taking photos of everyone. They had gone out to get ice cream  _ just because they could _ , and Jason persuaded Roy to shoot an apple off his head. It was a good day. 

“Where did you find that,” Jason says. 

Roy holds up  _ The Aeneid _ . (Jason never finished it— he was reading it with Bruce, and they had only finished book four before he died.) “It was in here,” he says. “You were using it as a bookmark, I guess.” 

Jason sits on the couch next to him, and gently takes the photograph from Roy’s hands. Their fingers do not brush. They’re not each other’s anymore, he has to remind himself. (But they could be.) He studies it. “What happened to us?” He finally says. 

Roy lets out a low, hollow laugh. “You died,” he says, “and I got kicked out. Our fathers abandoned us, and we tried to get them back. And we did bad things, and worse things, and maybe some good things, too. But it was never enough. And we lost so, so much. Ourselves, and pieces of ourselves, and things that were important.” 

“I’m back now, though,” Jason says, “and you and Ollie are… better. So why aren’t we—” His throat closes suddenly, and he clears it. “Why aren’t we them again?” 

Roy just shakes his head. “We’re not our father’s sons anymore. And we can’t get back what we lost.”

“No,” Jason says. “No. What happened?” He’s close to tears for some reason; he can feel them building in the back of his chest. Clutching at the photograph, he tries to take a deep breath. Roy takes his hand, and suddenly, breathing is easy. “Where went that cheeky teenager? Where did that billion dollar smile go, Roy?” 

“It was so long ago,” Roy says. His hand tightens on Jason’s. “I guess life is longer when it’s soaked in sadness.” And then, “It’s gone, Jay. And I don’t know if it’s ever coming back.” 

“I was resurrected,” Jason says. 

“I know,” Roy replies. 

“It didn’t change a damn thing, Roy. Not a thing.” He rests his head on Roy’s shoulder. ( _ This is where I belong _ , his head thinks, and the rest of him replies,  _ I know, I know. _ He doesn’t want to be anywhere but here, ever.) 

“I know, baby,” Roy says, almost like it’s slipped out. It feels so right, though. “Nothing ever changes.” 

There’s quiet. “You’re my anchor, Roy Harper.” 

“And you’re mine.” 

“I fucked up,” Jason says. “I’m sorry I left. You’ve had too many people leave you, and I shouldn’t have been that. God, I’m so sorry.” Jason feels Roy nod, and he senses something heavy lifting. 

“Jay,” Roy says, finally, and his voice is so soft, so wholly  _ different _ from the boy in the photograph. (Broken. No,  _ healing _ .) “I want too… I want…” 

Jason lifts his head up and kisses him. For a moment, Roy is still, tensed jaw and frozen face. And then he leans in. (Forget earlier,  _ this _ is where Jason belongs. This is theirs and theirs alone: tangled limbs and connected thoughts and lips, lips,  _ lips _ . This is them, together. This is them, loved. This is them,  _ belonging _ .)

-

In the morning they wake up to the sun streaming through Jason’s bedroom windows. Jason realizes that he’s slept better than he has in months, not once waking up due to nightmares. He rolls over to look at Roy, just waking up. 

Something comes over him. 

(Love.)

“Let’s get married,” he says. 

Roy grumbles into the pillows. After a moment, his eyes open again. “Are you serious?” He says. There’s a strange expression on his face. (Hope.) 

Jason thinks for a moment, and then realizes there’s nothing to think about. “Dead serious.” 

“Jason, I—” Roy starts, and then he deflates a little. “Jason, you left. That was you. How can I…?”

“This is me,” Jason says, “promising that I won’t do that ever again.” 

Roy looks at him steadily. “I don’t want to be alone.” 

“You won’t,” Jason says.  _ This is the most important thing in the world _ . “I know it’s hard to love me. And I know that I’m a flawed person, and I know that I’ve fucked up with you in the past. But you make me…” He pauses to collect his thoughts. “I want to get fine for you.” 

“People will think we’re crazy,” Roy says. 

“Yeah, well,” Jason replies, “they don’t know shit. No one knows me like you do, Roy.”

They stare at each other, messes made of freckles and red and brown hair. 

“I love you, Roy Harper.” 

“And I love you. So much.” There’s a long pause, and Jason’s pretty sure he doesn’t breath at all. “What the hell,” Roy says finally. “Let’s get fucking married.” 

**Author's Note:**

> i was gonna make this all angsty but then i was like. eh. 
> 
> pls comment, give kudos, etc! u can find me on tumblr [here](https://dykejason.tumblr.com)


End file.
